


The Twin Moon-Cakes

by tholos



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Baking, Elsweyr (Elder Scrolls), Family Fluff, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29035857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tholos/pseuds/tholos
Summary: A peppy young Khajiit helps her father's bakery prepare delicious Jone and Jode cakes for Azurah's midwinter festival.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Twin Moon-Cakes

Though the wind roared bitterly over the dry plains of Dunei, though every breath outdoors was sharp and biting with the chill and upswept dust, it was the most splendid evening the baker’s daughter had ever known. After eleven long years of pleading, her father was finally admitting her into the bakery to help prepare for the midwinter festival.

It was the busiest time of year for her family. She was accustomed to scarcely seeing her father for days as he closed up the shop and withdrew into the back kitchens, assembling lavish gift boxes stuffed with ginger cookies, sweet blue poppy seed rolls, and bars of nougat. Tonight, however, she pranced through the side door that had once been prohibited to her with a sense of being chosen, and the bustling pastry makers paused and made eager way for their guest of honor.

Glancing over his shoulder, her father grinned and beckoned her to his side at the counter. “Hello, ja'khajiit,” he chirruped. “Are you ready to bake some Jone and Jode cakes?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing with delight at the array of ingredients and mixing bowls laid out before her. There were sticks of cinnamon and sugared honey flower petals, peppers and Azurah’s star anise, perfuming the air with a pungent aroma that tickled her nose.

“Good, good. Why don’t you make a sweet Jone cake like you, while your father makes a spicy Jode cake. It is mostly the same. Just follow my movements.”

She watched in awe as her father deftly dished ramekins of shelled walnuts and sesame seeds onto a tray, setting them over the wood stove to toast while he began forming the dough. Golden moon sugar syrup, flour, oil, and water melded together into a sticky beige mound, and she mirrored his actions as best she could in her own bowl.

“Don’t overmix,” her father said, gently steadying her hand. “We want the dough light and fluffy.” Then, returning to the stove, he suddenly cried out: “Get your paws out of the pork mince!”

“This one is helping,” her older senche-raht sister objected. “This one is taste-testing.”

Her father snatched both the toasting tray and the dish of pork mince in one nimble motion. “You should be helping the sellers load up the carts,” he said. “Silly one. Ja'khajiit, grab the date paste from the shelf up there, would you? We’ll use it to fill your cakes.”

She nodded and reached to take a jar of mashed dates the color of rich wine, popping off the lid and holding it close to savor the delicate fragrance. The jangling of her father’s copper braid-hoops played like a familiar tune as he chopped the walnuts and sesame seeds into fine slivers, stirring them into the pork and then grating over nutmeg and black peppercorns. He slid a dish of candied citrus peels down the counter to her, eyeing the practiced positioning of her fingers as she carefully sliced them.

Into a bowl she poured the citrus, globs of shimmering date paste, and an extra drizzle of moon sugar syrup. “Now here comes the fun part,” her father chuckled. “We’re going to scoop some up and roll, roll, roll a ball.”

“Like this?”

“That’s right. Make sure they’re all nice and even, and then we’ll do the dough.”

After rolling, her father showed her how to press the dough into thin disks like little pancakes, and they placed the balls of filling in the center of each one.

They folded the dough over and rolled it again smoothly, heedful not to form cracks, and she squealed and laughed as her father tossed flour across the counter and clumps of it powdered their faces like snow.

“You’ve done very well,” her father said. “This one has no doubt your Jone cakes will be the most popular at the festival. There is one last task before they go in the oven, the greatest task.”

She floured the cakes with curiosity while her father disappeared into the storage room. When he emerged he held reverentially in his hands a carved wooden mold.

“This mold was crafted just for us, when your great-great-great grandfather founded this bakery at the start of the Fourth Era,” he explained. Pointing, he added, “See those letters there? Below the twin moons?”

She gasped, eyes wide. “That’s the name of our shop, in Ta'agra!”

Her father smiled and handed her the mold. “Give it a coating of flour and put a cake inside. Let everyone know where they can find the best pastries in Anequina.”

The finished Jone and Jode cakes were a beautiful burnished brown and flaky to the touch. Before wrapping them in their crinkly patterned paper and packing them into the gift boxes, she and her father shared samples with his employees and the merchants next door, who praised her exuberantly on the perfect sweetness of dates paired with citrus. She made sure to set aside a few for her hungry sister as well.

“Azurah herself would be pleased with your fine tribute to the festival,” her father rejoiced, as they stepped out from the sweltering bakery and into the cold night air to finish loading the carts. He lifted her into his arms and nuzzled her close. His fur held the comforting smell of burnt sugar.


End file.
